


Excuses and Escapist Fantasies

by ClayJackson



Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intrusive Thoughts, Just lots of bad thinking but no bad actions, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 21:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClayJackson/pseuds/ClayJackson
Summary: This argument was the final straw.





	Excuses and Escapist Fantasies

**Author's Note:**

> Uuuh I love Anthony and he's my new fave OC to project on so here's him doing some impulsive shit I wish I could do now/had done when I was in my abusive home. Also Flesh is such a good friend who I adore so much.

“I’m tired of hearing your excuses, you’re a grown man, it’s about time you get your shit together and act like one!”

Anthony’s chest was on fire as his face contorted while listening to his father yell at him. His throat felt thick and heavy and his jaw ached from clenching his teeth shut while he took the barrage. 

“You can’t clean up after yourself, you can’t take care of yourself. You’re always talking back against us and being so disrespectful. I’m sick of your attitude!” His father breathed heavily, his face red with anger. 

Anthony swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he started back at him with teary eyes. “You know what, dad?” he said, his voice cracking. “Fuck you.”

His father looked shocked. “What did you say to me?”

“Fuck. You.” 

He instantly regretted the words when they fell out of his mouth, but they felt so sweet. “Fuck you, fuck mom, fuck this whole fucking house!” His voice got louder as he went on, the tears in his eyes burning as they fell down his face. “You’re sick of my attitude? I’m sick of yours! I’ve tried to tell you guys what’s wrong, but you never listen! You tell me to toughen up and that it’s not that bad. Mom cries about where she went wrong and that if I’m really that bad then I need to be institutionalized. I don’t need any of that! No matter what I do or how hard I try, you always find some way to tell me that I’ve fucked it up. I’ve always done something wrong, I can never make either of you happy!” 

His voice cracked sharply as he came to a crescendo. He was shaking and felt sick, but the stunned look on his dad’s face was bliss. Anthony let out a shuddering breath. “So fuck you.”

He turned quickly and sprinted through the house, terrified of what might come next but his body felt lighter than it had in years. The sound of the bathroom door slamming shut echoed around him as he isolated himself, locking the door and panting heavily as he stood there.

Tears were hot as they rolled down his face and let out a deep sob. He let himself cry openly, tired of trying to keep things repressed. Anthony looked at himself in the mirror. His face was flushed, his eyes bright red and glassy, his hair a mess from running. He sobbed loudly and ran a finger through his hair, tugging on it roughly as he whined loudly.

A million impulses ran through his head, none of them healthy. He wanted to claw his skin open, wanted to crack open his ribcage and comb through his guts to find what was hurting. He wanted to smash his head into the mirror and shatter it. He wanted to fill the tub and drown in it. He had to do something before he did something stupid.

He looked around the bathroom, tearing open cupboards and drawers. There were pills, he could swallow those. No, no. He couldn’t be stupid. Chug a bottle of bleach? No. Break open a razor and carve himself open? No, no. He had to calm down, had to breathe. Anthony opened a drawer and found grooming supplies. Scissors, clippers, gel. He grabbed the scissors and looked back at himself in the mirror. 

The snap of the scissors felt good on his hand, and he watched as a chunk of white hair coiled on itself in the sink. He breathed heavily, taking in a deep breath before grabbing another chunk and cutting it. He snipped and chopped and cut, section by section and strand by strand until it was all short and unruly, jutting out at odd angles. 

He set the scissors down and breathed out slowly, his body still trembling but his heart calming down. He put the scissors back in the drawer and grabbed the clippers, looking over them for a moment before thinking Fuck it, and pulling them in. He didn’t bother to put a guard on them, just flipped them on and jumped at the loud buzz of them.

“Anthony?” he heard his mother call from the other side of the door, grabbing the knob and tugging. “Anthony, open the door right now.”

“Fuck you,” he said as he pressed the clippers against his scalp, hissing from the burn and tug it caused. 

“Anthony, please. I know you’re father can be harsh, I know but please, I’m worried about you,” she begged, trying the knob again. 

He ignored here, focusing on the buzzing of the clippers as he passed them over his head again and again. The shorter hairs joined the longer ones in the sink, an odd mixture of white and strips of red, and he squirmed as they fell over his face and neck. 

The silence that fell when he turned them off was loud. He didn’t know if his mother had said more to him or where she had gone, and he didn’t care. He unplugged the clippers and threw them back in the drawer, pushing it shut. The feeling of his scalp was odd, the stubbly feeling of the freshly cut hair making his palms itch as he brushed off any scraps of hair that were left.

His reflection was a disaster. Face red and puffy from crying, eyes bloodshot, his long hair shaved down to the root. He felt raw and naked, more of his skin exposed on his neck and head then before. Anthony took in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the tremors that he still had. 

He thought for a long moment, staring at his new face. What the hell was he going to do now? He knew the answer, he had been preparing for it for several years, but the act of actually doing it? He had no idea how it was going to go. 

Anthony took a deep breath and steadied himself, unlocking the bathroom door and opening it slowly. Neither of his parents were in sight and he let out a soft sigh of relief as he started moving towards his bedroom. 

He moved slowly and quietly, like an elk that heard a gunshot in the distance. Inching towards his room, he strained his ears for any signs of someone approaching. He could distantly hear talking from across the house, probably his dad trying to comfort his mom. 

He reached his bedroom and slipped in quietly, locking the door behind him as well. The lights stayed off as he made his way through, using the evening sun coming through his window to light his way.

There was a backpack shoved into the corner of his closet that he had prearranged and continuously updated to his needs. A couple sets of clothes that he swapped out with the seasons, some snacks that he didn’t need to cook, cheap first aid kit, cash, and an extra phone charger. He grabbed the backpack and worked his way around his room, grabbing whatever little things he had left out or couldn’t keep stocked. His computer and charger, his camera, little objects he suddenly felt an attachment too. 

He shook as he gathered things up and slipped on the extra pair of shoes he kept hidden. As much as Anthony had thought things through and planned for this day, he didn’t feel ready for it. It was terrifying, thinking about what he was doing or what would come next, but he felt numb as he worked quickly.

Anthony moved to push a hand through his hair, stumbling when there was none and he was reminded of what he had done. He breathed out slowly as he threw on a sweater, sent a quick text, and looked at his window.

Years of being a troublemaker meant he learned how to escape the house undetected. It was a little more difficult with the bags and extra weight, but he carefully made his way onto the roof below his window, and then down the siding and dropping to the ground with a groan from the impact. He walked down the lawn to the sidewalk and made his way towards the closest bus stop.  
\---------  
Flesh was waiting for the knock on his door. He’d gotten Anthony’s brief text and told his mom about what was going on and waited in the living room. He jumped up and walked to the door, looking through the hole on the door to double check. His jaw dropped when he took him a moment to recognize Anthony before he quickly undid the locks and swung it open.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” Flesh said as he took him in.

Anthony laughed and smiled despite his red, flushed face and the tears. “What, don’t like the new hair cut?” 

Flesh smiled at him before pulling him inside, relocking the door behind him. “You have got to tell me what went on.”


End file.
